


The Bartender

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Arguing, Bartender Dean, Castiel Makes Mistakes, Crack Treated Seriously, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Hence Why He's At A Bar, Humor, M/M, Pansexual Castiel, Pansexual Character, Protective Castiel, Social Worker Castiel, Teacher Dean, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Claire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sorry, it’s just I had it out with my niece’s teacher a few hours ago and—” Just then the bartender roars a laugh. Cas narrows his brows and glances around. Even the few men around him wear a mask of confusion. “What?”</p><p>The man holds out his hand, “Castiel Novak. Dean. Dean Winchester.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bartender

"The guy had a whole arsenal—but claimed he couldn't even hunt to save his life! I made a conscious effort to steer clear of British guys since."

"So...you swing both ways?" he asks uncertainly.

Cas nods once, a small smile poking his cheeks, rapidly racing towards his cerulean eyes. "Any way, really. I appreciate you not locking me in like a Million Dollar answer. The worst is when people presume I'm straight because I date a woman. That's like preparing a PB&J with whole wheat instead of white; it's still the same contents—"

"Just a different cover," Dean interjects. He ducks his head to smother the laugh spilling off his fat pink lips as he tries and fails to distract himself with a rag and a sparkling glass. "Yeah, I'm uh... I'm familiar.”

Cas lets his mouth run like an engine during NASCAR before saying, "Oh. OH, right. That's, um, that's cool."

"You said you're dating a woman?"

"Hmm? Oh..." Cas nearly spills the bowl of almonds Dean offers him, elbow flying out from underneath him like a skateboard. "No, I, uh, I was, but that's one for the history books."

"Can't hold onto your nuts, huh?" Dean smarts with a Cheshire grin, snatching the bowl away.

Cas rejoins with a deep, gravelly laugh better put to use during an awkward first date. Dean resumes his duties, tending to other sorry sons of bitches with a bourbon and Coke to their names. Cas definitely does _not_ follow the perky trail of his ass through his name-brand denim on his way there…

Cas can’t believe this is his life: throwing lettuce down the disposal at some pub down a few miles from his house. He’s not even _drinker,_ something he prides himself in considering his line of work.

It all started with a phone call. Cas was in the middle of a meeting with one of his patients, a mentally disturbed girl named Krissy Chambers, when his assistant, Hannah, barged in:

_“Mr. Novak?”_

_Cas doesn’t bat an eye. He’s almost through to Krissy after ten sessions and he isn’t about to give that up over a measly phone call. “If it’s Ephraim calling about the latest numbers, tell him my fax machine is broken.”_

_“Uh, no, sir,” replies Hannah, worming her coiled bob cut through the cracked door. “It’s Claire’s school.”_

That’s not the surprising part. The surprising part came into play when he picked up the phone to a very deep, very alpha male voice that couldn’t be Principal Ferguson. Gavin may as well be Cas’s son too with all the hell Claire gives him at school. _“Hi,_ _is this Cas-te-el_?”

Despite the slaughtering of his name, the guy, Mr. Winchester, seemed genuinely humble. Until he informed he was calling regarding Claire’s string of unexcused absences in his class so early in the school year. Castiel attempted to explain the situation briefly without ratting on Claire, how she was “taken in” by Cas after her father “passed”, and how hard things have been for her since, but this guy wasn’t taking any prisoners:

“ _Claire seems like a great kid, as I’m sure you know, she’s just a little… you know.”_

_“No, I don’t know. Care to enlighten me?”_

_“Look, my intention calling wasn’t to set you off—”_

Castiel didn’t know what came over him, but he started raking the guy like a pile of autumn leaves: going to town until he scratched the surface of his concrete skull. Claire’s the closest thing he has to family left, and he wasn’t going to let some Junior High teacher label her like the system’s done time again.

It wasn’t until he hung up he realized he could’ve jeopardized Claire’s education with his impulsivity. Meaning to forget about the whole incident, he hit the local bar that night, a downtown hole-in-the-wall joint that didn’t smell anything short of piss and cigarette butts. He lingered on the side at first rather than the front where anyone who spotted his suit would try and talk him out of ordering a tall glass of anything.

The bartender, a broad-shouldered, flannel-fetished Ken doll if there ever was one, approached him with the question most would have to pay $100 to hear from the mouth of someone like him:

_“Something on your mind, buddy?”_

_Castiel plops his head on the flat of his hand. “Oh nothing, just the usual fucking-up-my-child’s-future-because-I’m-an-overbearing-asshole, sure you get those all the time.”_

_“Actually,” the man says, voice rich and deep as he grabs a glass to set in front of him, “you’re the first. Between you and me, most of the guys that stumble through here probably don’t even know they_ have _kids.”_

_“Sorry, it’s just I had it out with my niece’s teacher a few hours ago and—” Just then the bartender roars a laugh. Cas narrows his brows and glances around. Even the few men around him wear a mask of confusion. “What?”_

_The man holds out his hand, “Castiel Novak. Dean. Dean Winchester.”_

"Sorry,” Cas says, “about earlier, I mean."

Dean throws his hand up. "It's forgotten... almost."

Like the effect of the thing he’s drinking, Cas’s head does a 360: "Almost?"

"I'll mull it over a date this Saturday,” Dean replies, retrieving a pen from the counter. He slides his fingers into the palm of Cas’s hand and scribbles _785_ , closely shadowed by something, probably more numbers. Cas isn’t paying attention because Dean’s hands are calloused but warm, and his scent, a minty musk a cross between Christmas and Father’s Day, cancels out just about everything else around him.

Cas’s palm tickles from the blue ballpoint and his heart is racing like a little kid on a sugar hype. “Okay, teach.”

“Okay, _asshole,”_ Dean says, throwing his rag over his shoulder before whipping out a scolding finger. “You better not live up to your view of yourself, young man. I expect good things.”

Cas covers his heart with his right hand, solemnly swearing, “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

“Good,” he says, grinning like a dope. “Now get out of here, your niece needs you.”

Cas does just that, thinking on the way out how he might just have to crack down Claire’s teacher more often.


End file.
